


Oaths, Affidavits & Other Lies

by hotchoco195



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But also pre-Reichenbach, F/M, Flashbacks?, Minor Angst, Post-Reichenbach, Slightly Dark!Molly, molliarty - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Fall, Molly tries to tell Lestrade what happened between her and Jim. But she can't tell him everything...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

_“Okay Molly, I’m not gonna keep you long. We just need to run through your story again.”_

_Lestrade dropped the thick file on the table and I flinched at the sound._

_“I thought you had this all written down.” I said shakily._

_“Yeah, but with Sherlock...uh...we just need to go over all the facts and make sure nothing’s out of order.”_

_“You mean you don’t believe Sherlock. You don’t think Moriarty was real.”_

_He held up a hand. “I didn’t say that, I just want to get everything straight. Alright, so if you could start at the beginning.”_

Where else do you start? I could start at the end, I suppose, with me being brought to the Yard to prove a man existed even though it didn’t matter anymore. But like Lestrade said, I’ll start at the beginning.

 

_“Well it’s like I told you. I was working late and I went to the cafeteria for a coffee and Jim was there.”_

_“And you’d never seen him before?”_

_“No.”_

_“But he said he worked in I.T?”_

_“He had the right security badge. I mean, I don’t really deal with I.T. in my day-to-day, so he could have actually worked there for all I knew.”_

_“Alright, go on.”_

_“We went on a couple of dates and then I introduced him to Sherlock because he really wanted to meet him for some reason, and I was too stupid to think that was strange. I mean, why wouldn’t people want to meet Sherlock? He’s brilliant. Anyway, Sherlock said he was gay so I told Jim I thought we should just be friends. He seemed really down about it at the time.”_

_“Why did Sherlock think he was gay?”_

_“Well, there was some superficial stuff but the fact that Jim slipped Sherlock his number was pretty convincing.”_

_“And you didn’t see him again after you broke up?”_

_“No, never.”_

The next time I saw Jim Moriarty was after the pool incident. I was sitting on a bench in the park near the hospital looking at cars and people around me, wondering where they were going and with who and why. Wondering when they’d end up on my table like everyone else and stop being strangers.

“Hello Molly.”

I jerked so hard I spilt my coffee over both hands, wincing at the heat.

“Ouch.”

“What are you doing here?”

He looked different in his suit; much more polished, much more devious.

“I came to see you, clearly.” He drawled.

“You’re looking for Sherlock.”

“Maybe. Gonna tell me where he is?”

“No.” I spat quickly to hide the way my lip quivered.

“Alright. See you round I guess.”

He strolled off towards the hospital and I gripped the bench tightly, watching him go but too afraid to move.

 

The next time was more surprising, if only because it was sort of out of character for me. After the spectacular fucking humiliation of Sherlock’s so-called party and watching him identify another woman by her naked corpse, I decided to get very, very drunk. I didn’t even bother calling anyone to see if they would come with me, just walked down the street until I found a lively enough place and seized an empty bar stool.

“What can I getcha?” the bartender asked. Any other day I might have found him cute but I was too upset.

“Vodka lemonade.”

He nodded and mixed it quickly, hurrying off to serve someone else as I stared at the condensation forming on the glass.

“Well! Not somewhere I expected to see you, Miss Hooper.”

I barely repressed a shudder. Of course he had to show up now, on the worst night. Jim just smiled, watching me. His suit was incredibly out of place here.

“Look, I’ve had a really shit day and I’m too tired to be properly afraid of you, so could you just leave me alone?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Aww, what’s wrong? No kiss under the mistletoe from our favourite detective?”

“Please shut up and go away.” I knocked back a huge gulp of my drink.

“Well now I’m definitely staying.”

Jim turned those chilling dark eyes on the guy sitting next to me until he shuffled off his stool and walked off, looking over his shoulder. He slid into the empty spot with a contented look that made me feel sick.

“What are you doing here?” I snapped.

“I came for a Christmas nightcap, thank you very much,” he scoffed, “And now I am having it with you.”

“Yay me,” I took another sip, “I found your local.”

“I do enjoy the company of miserable people slowly drinking their lost opportunities away,” he smiled wryly, “But no, this is an occasional thing. A bad habit, if you will.”

“Even better – pure coincidence. I have the worst luck.”

“There’s no such thing as coincidence, Molly. Only fate.”

 

He ordered and I was torn between leaving and telling him to go away again, though neither seemed like smart options.

“So Molly, how are things? Not good I take it?”

“Why pretend you care?”

“But I do care Molly. I thought we had something special.” He pouted for a moment before laughing.

“Do you try to kill all your ex-girlfriends’ mates?”

“Only the interesting ones.”

I finished my drink and stood.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Don’t act so surprised that I can’t wait to get away from you.”

He watched me, eyes sharp above his smile like a viper. It was unnerving but the vodka leant me a little extra courage.

“What if I don’t want you to go yet?”

“Are you going to have me shot?” I dared him.

He took a moment to weigh my expression and shrugged. “It’s Christmas. Even I can be a touch sentimental.”

I walked out of the bar, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. Outside I rounded a corner and leant back against the brick while I hyperventilated.

 

_“So what would you say was your impression of Jim? Of his character?”_

_“I don’t think it will be much help. I mean, he was always only pretending with me, wasn’t he?”_

_“Just give me a rough idea.”_

 

I worked the late shift on New Year’s Eve since I didn’t have anywhere else to be. When midnight hit I could hear people yelling and singing, happy people with happy, ordinary lives. It was a bit more depressing than usual, and I thought I might try and wrap a bit of that cheer around me before going home to my empty flat. I walked through the street for a little while until I found myself in front of the same pub. I didn’t really want to go in just in case, but at the same time my common sense said Jim wasn’t going to be there again – surely he had better things to do on New Year’s than come to some scummy old pub. And if he did? I’d just leave like last time.

I got a table in the corner away from the very drunk loud people at the bar and ordered an Irish cream. The warm comfort of it was wonderful in my belly, and I watched the crowd with a slightly lighter heart.

“I thought I might see you here again.”

He was smiling in a casual white tee and black pants, and the image was similar enough to ‘Jim from I.T.’ that I didn’t feel so intimidated by his leer. Maybe that was the point.

I decided to try his bluff. “Not that you’re here hoping to see me.”

“Oh no, just like you’re not here waiting for me.”

“I wasn’t, actually. Just wanted a drink before I head home and this place is the closest to the hospital.”

“You are a terrible liar, Molly. May I sit?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, flopping into the seat opposite.

“So two people who never come to bars like this one do so two Fridays in a row. Coincidence?”

I looked him squarely in the eye and held my breath. “Fate.”

 

_“He was nice, really. Sweet. Caring. Sort of gentle with me, like he knew how shy I was. Like he was shy too, I guess.”_

_“And you believed it was genuine?”_

_“I did. Until Sherlock told me who he was.”_

_“And you believed Sherlock was telling the truth?”_

_“I know he was.”_

 

“Molly,” Jim sung out, “You’re not trying to escape through the bathroom window are you?”

I clutched the sink harder, fighting back tears as I stared at myself in the mirror. Who was this stranger? Who was this pathetic girl so desperate to be loved, to be noticed, she invited a psychopath into her bed?

“Because it’s your apartment, so that would be a bit pointless.”

Not that it hadn’t been good. Very, very good. A little scary at times, when Jim got that intense look, but it was good. He certainly wasn’t gay.

“Do I need to come and check you haven’t fallen in?”

I knew I couldn’t avoid him forever, so I steeled myself and walked back into the bedroom. He was wrapped in my sheets like some kind of malevolent Greek god, dark eyes fixed on me.

“Come back to bed, Molly.”

“Why did you want this? With me, I mean.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

“Because you’re you and I’m, well, me.”

“Exactly.”

 

I slept uneasily beside him, still not convinced he wasn’t going to slit my throat. But Jim was gone when I woke and somehow that was worse. I must have been truly terrible if he didn’t even waste the time killing me.

It was hard to meet Sherlock’s eye in the lab. He must have known something had happened, but as usual he didn’t care enough to figure out exactly what and with whom. That day it was a blessing though.

Jim started texting me – just little trifles, things he’d seen, things he thought might interest me. Stuff like _I just saw the most wonderful coat. But how many does one man need really?_ and _There’s a wonderful bakery two blocks from St Bart’s. Have you ever tried their custard rolls?_ It was strange but sort of nice to know he was thinking about me. At least someone was.

The next Friday I was walking to the Tube when I passed the bar. Something made me stop. I knew I shouldn’t go in - that wanting to see Jim was practically suicidal – but for a second I remembered the feel of him over me, of having those clever hands fixed on boring old Molly, and I wanted that feeling again. That somehow I had intrigued Jim Moriarty. That I was more special than the hundreds of prettier, smarter, nicer girls in London. It was only for a second though, and I moved on.

He was waiting in the doorway of my building. “I think we can skip the terrible alcohol this time, don’t you?”

 

_“Did you ever suspect Jim was more than he appeared? Even if you thought he was genuinely a nice guy, you never noticed anything odd or contradicting about him?”_

_“We only went on three dates, Detective Inspector.”_

_“Come on Molly, I’m trying my best here to help clear Sherlock’s name. Anything you can tell me might help.”_

“Jim? Is this all just some joke to you? Something you can wave in front of Sherlock later and laugh about?”

He stopped tracing patterns on my stomach. “No. I’ve already played that hand and I never like to repeat myself.”

“Do you still want to hurt him?”

He kissed my breastbone. “I have to, Molly. He’s me.”

 

I saw Jim regularly, but it couldn’t have been called dating. We never went anywhere and he never told me much about himself. He wasn’t too interested in hearing about me either, plus he could deduce enough without having to ask that most conversations would have been redundant. But he liked to air his opinions, and send me the occasional very expensive present that I hid under my bed, and chuckle about his own cleverness. The sex was amazing – not because it was good, but because something of his mask fell away and I could see he was human after all. He was flawed and brilliant at the same time.

 

“I’m going away for a while, Molly. There’s something big in the works.”

“Oh. You’ll be okay though, yeah? Not going to do anything stupidly dangerous?”

“Am I ever stupid?”

“Yes.”

“Well no, I won’t be this time.”

“Is this about Sherlock?”

He didn’t answer.

 

_“When I saw him in the papers, that he’d broken into the Tower and all those other places, I was so grateful Sherlock had warned me off him, you know? With the gay thing? I mean, I could have been...you know... with a criminal mastermind. I don’t think I could have lived with myself if that had happened.”_

_“But you say Jim was faking the gay act to test Sherlock. So really it was him that gave Sherlock the hints that led to you breaking up with him.”_

_“I suppose.”_

_“Why would he do that if he was using you to get close to Sherlock? It seems silly to burn that bridge just to see Sherlock once.”_

_“I think maybe Jim was just like that. You know, all flash and magic. I mean that’s how it looked on TV anyway.”_

 

“Molly, I think I’m going to die.”

I promised Sherlock I’d help him. Of course I’d help – he was my friend. Whatever I had with Jim, I didn’t want him to hurt anyone. I felt guilty enough as it was.

We staged the whole thing, and did a very good job I thought. Some complicated physics stuff. Sherlock told me to go home, that I’d done all I could do, and I smiled and said I would. Then I went to a room by the rooftop stairs and waited.

I heard the bang. At first I thought Jim had changed his mind and shot Sherlock, that our plan had failed – that I had failed. I took the stairs slowly, not wanting to open the door and see Sherlock sprawled out there, Jim tucking his gun away triumphantly. I wasn’t sure what I would do. Then I opened the door and everything was different.

Sherlock was standing on the edge talking to someone on the phone, probably John. I didn’t give him a second thought. He would jump and it would be fine – he would be saved. But Jim was staring up from the concrete with an extra crazed look on his dead face and I bit back a sob as I stepped closer. That was the day I finally became an adult. Not my twenty first or my graduation or my first flat. The day I grew up was when I realised everyone lies to you. Everyone, even the ones you trusted to stab you in the back.

I knelt by the body, hands idly brushing his hair back off his brow. This seemed so wasteful. At some point I think I tried to find a pulse, but it was useless. Sherlock jumped and then people were screaming and rushing about and I could hear John yelling from the roof and nobody cared about the corpse at my side, nobody was screaming over him. I felt like maybe I should do it, because surely no one deserved this, but my eyes were painfully dry and my voice wouldn’t come. Jim was just a silly boy after all.

 

_“I don’t know anything else.”_

_“And you’re willing to swear to all this in court?”_

Sorry Sherlock.

_“Of course.”_

 

I didn’t ask for help since everyone was buzzing around Sherlock anyway. I took the gurney to the top floor and went back up to put him in the body bag myself. But he was gone, and I knew he’d never really been mine to look after anyway.

One rainy day I was lying on the couch with Toby, ignoring the crap weather and the crap TV and the crappy way I had to pretend with everyone. Pretend to be sad about Sherlock when really I was sad about Jim. Pretend I was as clueless and shocked as everyone else. Pretend I hadn’t spent six months as some sort of sounding board and friend with benefits for a terrorist, serial killer and all-round dangerous criminal – with the many sleepless nights of self-discovery that went with it.

My phone rang but it was too far out of reach and I ignored it. It went off again and I sighed, pulling myself off the lounge but by the time I got to it the ringing stopped.

There was a knock at the door as I frowned at the unfamiliar number. “Coming!”

I opened it and stopped, the phone falling from my hand.

“Hello Molly. May I come in?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.


	2. Chapter 2

_I closed the door limply, quietly, not wanting to turn around and unable to look away for too long._

_“You look terrible, dear. Have you been crying over me?”_

_“No.”_

_“I know you haven’t been mourning our Sherlock.” There was something in his tone that belied its lightness, an unmistakable stone edge that made me shudder._

 

I looked up as he entered, surprised.

“John! What are you doing here?”

“I’m not sure, actually.” He sighs, hands on the edge of my table.

“Is everything alright?”

“I heard you had an interview with Lestrade.”

“Yes.”

“About Sherlock.”

I didn’t answer, just swung my scalpel idly form hand to hand.

“I wanted to see if you were okay, I guess.”

“Fine.” I smiled brightly, fake and tight over my face.

“I know it must be hard for you. I mean, Sherlock was always an arse but he seemed to be so much worse with you, and then-”

“It’s okay John. I know he said some horrible things to me but that was just his way, you know? I don’t hate him or anything for that.”

He grinned half-heartedly. “You’re a bit too forgiving sometimes, Molly Hooper.”

“Probably.”

 

_“Jim-”_

_“I ask myself, why would you help Sherlock, Molly, when you knew how important it was to me? I thought you cared.”_

_“I did, I mean I do, I...I couldn’t let you hurt people.”_

_“People or Sherlock?”_

_I set my jaw. “Both.”_

_“Funny, it never bothered you before then.”_

_“Are you going to kill me?”_

_It surprised both of us. He clasped his hands behind his back._

_“Not today.”_

_“Are you going to hurt me? Make me pay for ruining your plan?”_

_“No.”_

_My voice shook, hands clenched around my upper arms as I hugged myself. “Then why are you here?”_

_“I missed you, Molly. Didn’t you miss me?” he smiles, his words totally insincere._

God help me, I did.

_“What’s wrong with me?” I muttered, more to myself than him._

_“Nothing, dear. You’re just like everybody else. You don’t want to be alone.”_

“How are you- how’s it...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t really ask.”

He looked up sadly. “It’s fine. Asking, I mean.”

“And things are....”

“Not so fine.”

He blinked as something wet dripped onto the table. I wanted to reach out and touch his hand but I couldn’t.

“Oh god Molly, I’m sorry, I didn’t come here to fall apart like this. I just wanted to see how you were.”

“I don’t mind it, honestly. I know you don’t really have anyone to talk to about him.”

He laughed wetly. “Isn’t that a funny notion? A month ago his face was hardly out of the paper and now the only people who care are Mycroft and Mrs Hudson.”

“And me.”

“And you.” He agreed.

_He came closer but I didn’t move, frozen to the spot as he circled me before resting a palm against my face. There was a surprising tenderness in his touch._

_“Why did you come, Jim?” I pleaded._

_“Maybe I’m more like everybody else than we thought, Molly. Maybe I don’t want to be alone either.”_

_“You’re nothing like other people.” I insisted._

_“Neither was Sherlock, and even he had John.”_

_“What am I supposed to do, hide you here? Run away with you? This barely worked before you were dead, so how can we possibly keep doing it now?”_

_He closed the space between us, pressing his fingertips very lightly against my elbows as his nose rested along mine._

_“Come on, Molly. Have a little faith.”_

_“Faith’s just another word for hope, and I gave up on that when I saw your brains all over the roof.”_

_He clucked his tongue. “Is that it? You’re upset about my little trick?”_

_“Shouldn’t I be?”_

_“No, Molly. Any sane person should have been glad to see me dead.”_

_“Then what does that make me?”_

 

“Would you like to get coffee sometime?” John asked, “I’m not being funny or anything, just, it would be good to have someone I could talk to. Someone else who never doubted him.”

I froze up, arms rigid. “I’m sorry, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I get it.” He nodded.

I didn’t try to explain. Let John blame it on whatever he liked, there was no way I could sit across from him in a cafe and watch him waste away over a man who wasn’t dead.

“Mycroft came by the other day. He said Moriarty’s old organisation is crumbling. Lots of arrests. Sherlock would have been pleased.”

“Yeah, he would.”

“ Alright then,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll leave you to it.”

He got all the way to the door before I called out.

“John?”

“Yeah?”

There was so much at the back of my throat just wanting to pour out; instead I smiled.

“I don’t think he’d want you to spend too much time missing him. You know?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

 

I put my keys on the table by the door as I unwrapped my scarf and hung it with my coat on the hook. Toby dropped his head over the edge of the couch and purred.

“Hey sweetheart. Ready for dinner? Me too.”

I took my bags to the kitchen, unpacking the groceries robotically. Slender hands curled around my waist and I paused.

“How was work?” It’s funny how much he sounds like Toby some times.

“Fine.”

“You had a visitor.”

It wasn’t a question, so there was nothing to say. I finished my unpacking and turned, melting into his chest. The cotton was soft against my cheek.

“How’s the good doctor?”

Again, something he doesn’t need me to find out, so I said nothing. John’s comment about Mycroft wasn’t surprising for either of us, given that I helped Sherlock prepare to take down Jim’s people. I thought again of the horrible red halo and held him tighter.

“Tell me a story, Jim.”

“What would you like to hear?”

“Whatever you’d like to tell.”

He chuckled and wrapped his hands in my hair, beginning carefully, each word uttered with precision and craft. The day’s anguish slowly cleared from my mind until there was only the rolling lilt and the warm arms.

 

_“I don’t know.”_

_I could tell it wasn’t something he said very often, and I could tell it was the real reason he was pressed against me in my living room. He didn’t know what to do now, without Sherlock. He and I had more in common than I’d thought._

_“I don’t think I can forgive you straight away,” I warned, “I thought you were dead.”_

_Never mind that there were a thousand different reasons not to forgive him. I really must be insane._

_“Then I’ll change your mind.”_

_“You’re the worst man in the world for me.” I muttered._

_He kissed me and it was like before, comfortingly familiar and safe even though his arms were the last place I should feel that way._

_“But I’m here.”_

_Tears that should have been shed a long time ago welled up, spilling out until I was hunched over, needing him to hold me up as I sobbed._

_“Tell me something new. I’m tired of being sad.”_

_“How about a story?”_


End file.
